


The Phases of the Moon

by Maeglin_Yedi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Coercion, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:53:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeglin_Yedi/pseuds/Maeglin_Yedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the night of the full moon draws near, Remus' motivations for teaching Harry the Patronus Charm become far less noble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Phases of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: HP/RL  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Warning: Chan Slash (13-year-old boy in a sexual relationship with an adult male), blatant manipulation and coercion, PWP.  
> Disclaimer: JKR owns them all. 
> 
> Summary: As the night of the full moon draws near, Remus' motivations for teaching Harry the Patronus Charm become less noble. 
> 
> A/N: Big thanks to Gina for the wonderful beta!
> 
> Word count: 8203  
> First published: November 2003

"Ready? Concentrate on your happy memory, Harry. Go!" 

I pull the lid off the packing box, and step back as the tall figure of a dementor slides towards Harry. I see his thin frame tense, and his hand trembles as he points his wand at the boggart. 

"Expecto patronum!"

His face pales, but his eyes stay determined. I keep my wand at the ready, but do not interfere. Yet. 

"Expecto patronum!"

A thin, silver cloud erupts from the tip of Harry's wand, and I see his eyes dart from the dementor to the wisp of gas and back. He's improved since we started our private lessons, and he's doing better than I'd ever expected he would. He's only a child after all, and I do not expect him to conjure up a true Patronus after only a few lessons. But by the looks of it, Harry does. I can see him fight the cold, the memories, the screams he hears inside his mind. 

"Expecto patronum!"

The dementor reaches out slowly, a slimy gray hand moving towards Harry, who steps back. His eyes roll up in their sockets, and he slowly sinks to the floor. I aim my wand and step up to the boggart. With a firm "Riddikulus," I drive it back into the packing crate and slam the lid shut. 

I let out a deep sigh as I walk towards Harry's limp body, sprawled out on the floor. I could have stopped it earlier. Why didn't I? As I crouch down beside him, the answer invades my mind, but I dare not acknowledge it. Three days to the full moon. It's growing stronger, as it always does around this time. Its control over me increases while it whispers demands and promises in my mind. 

Harry's glasses have slid down his nose, and I gently push them up before I trail my fingers across his cheek. It wants to touch him. It makes me want to touch him. Is that why I let Harry go on for so long? Is that why I waited for him to pass out? So I could caress his soft skin as I try to wake him up? It whispers that we want to touch him, that he is ours to do with as we please. It recognizes something in Harry, something I thought I'd lost over twelve years ago. 

"Harry. Wake up."

My voice is as gentle as ever, not betraying the presence of the beast that lurks inside me, making me want to do things that are highly inappropriate for a teacher and a student. An adult and a child. James' child. 

"P-p-professor?"

He sounds helpless, innocent. It claws at my mind, telling me to take that innocence and make it ours. I smile down at Harry and silently hand him a chocolate frog, which he starts to eat immediately. While I watch those pink lips wrap themselves around the piece of chocolate, it inhales Harry's scent, basking in it, sending shivers down my spine towards my groin. I briefly close my eyes as I feel myself harden. 

Harry is only a child. I have no business thinking or acting like this around him. Only a child. James' child. James. Sirius. It remembers all those private moments between us like they happened only yesterday. James' hot, wet mouth around my cock. Sirius burying himself deep inside me, thrusting hard against my prostate --

I inwardly shake myself. James is dead. Sirius... was dead for as far as I cared but like the rebel he is, he came back from the dead after 12 years, and now haunts the castle as well as my mind. All that happened between us is nothing more than a vague memory, stripped from the deep emotions I once felt for both of them. But it has found a child that awakens those feelings inside of me once again. 

Only a child. James' child. James. Sirius...

"This is never going to work. What if the dementors show up at my next match? I can't afford to lose again simply because I can't deal with them."

I hardly hear Harry's words as I help him up to his feet. I give him a grave smile, and move my hand up until it rests on his shoulder. I study him as I gently squeeze the thin shoulder, but he doesn't flinch or pull back from my touch. It howls in victory inside of me, telling me that the boy wants it as much as we do. He's enjoying your touch, it whispers. He wants to feel your hands on his body. 

“I think you've practiced enough for one night,” I say, too quickly perhaps, but I have to say something to silence the whispers in my mind and not betray my inner turmoil to Harry. “Let's have that butterbeer, all right?”

Letting out a deep sigh, Harry nods, and I slowly let go of him, glancing around the class room for the bottles of butterbeer I thought I brought with me that evening. It has become a ritual of sorts for us. Harry practices until he can give no more, and afterward we share a drink, discuss that evening's lesson or talk about Harry's other classes and Quidditch. I always look forward to those moments when I can sit quietly, listen to Harry's melodious voice as he talks with such passion about the things he loves and hates. Normally it calms me, but now, with the full moon drawing near, the thought of observing Harry while he opens his heart and soul to me leaves me restless and wanting more. Much more. 

“I seem to have left the drinks in my rooms,” I say, more to myself than to Harry. Why did I leave those bottles in my rooms? Why are we in this particular classroom, so close to my own quarters? It has been growing stronger, and apparently its whispers in my mind have not gone by unnoticed. At least some part of me has listened to them, agreed with them, and set up the perfect plan to lure Harry to my own territory. For what purpose, I dare not think. Although I know I won't be able to fight it. Not now. Not when it's only three days to the full moon and it's getting stronger by the minute. 

What was I thinking when I told Harry to meet me tonight for another lesson? It could have waited another four days. It could have. The realization that I was the one who told Harry to meet me here tonight, and not the beast, dawns on me, and for a moment I feel my legs tremble and my knees buckle. 

“Are you all right, sir?”

Harry's soft, worried voice pulls me back to this reality, and the idea that it was I and not it that set this whole thing up slowly drifts from my mind. 

“Yes, I'm fine. Just a bit tired, that's all. Why don't we go to my rooms and have that drink?”

Harry smiles at me, and I almost want to shut my eyes to protect me from the sheer intensity of that particular expression. I can see so much in that smile. Life and death. James and Lily. Memories I thought I'd forgotten and promises of reliving the past. 

“Let's go then,” I whisper, my voice suddenly refusing to participate as if it wants no part in all of this. Grabbing my battered briefcase, I put my hand on Harry's shoulder once again and gently steer him out of the classroom and across the hall towards my quarters. My territory. Harry looks up at me, his eyes full of trust, and I try not to flinch at the thought that this child has no idea he's about to enter the domain of a beast that has only one thing on its mind.

I whisper the password and step back as the heavy door swings open. Harry steps inside without a trace of doubt or hesitance, and for a moment I cannot move. I watch as that frail boy walks into my world, not a single clue he will not leave it again until it gets what it wants. Until I get what I want. Until we take from the boy what we believe is rightfully ours. His innocence. 

Only a child. James' child. James. Sirius...

Closing the door, locking it, I feel it merge with my mind, taking over my senses and my thoughts until there's no longer an it or a me, but only a we. I cannot stop it. Nor do I want to stop it when its whispers sound so convincing and promising. 

"You're not like other professors," Harry says, his green eyes wide behind those familiar glasses. He stands next to the couch, one hand absently stroking the soft brown fabric. 

"Aren't I?" I ask, amusement tainting my voice as I put away my briefcase and pick up the two bottles of butterbeer I had left on my small dining table.

"No. You're... nice," Harry concludes, and a soft laugh escapes my throat. It sounds almost desperate, voicing my thoughts that speak of how little the child knows me if he thinks that I am *nice*. He has no idea who or what I really am, and my gentle and understanding facade has him believing I only have his best interests at heart. If he only knew what I truly think about him or how he effects me in so many inappropriate ways it's futile to try to name them all. 

"Have a seat, Harry." I gesture towards the couch while I give him a smile that looks assuring and trustful and reveals nothing of my true feelings or intentions. Harry sits down, his knees pressed together, and his hands folded on top of them. I sense a little discomfort, but I'm sure a bottle of butterbeer will take care of that and relax the child enough for me to make my move. I have no intentions of hurting him, because even though the beast is violent, it does not like to force its strength on others. We like them compliant and willing. 

I sit down on the other end of the couch, a safe space between us, and I hand him the bottle, which he accepts gratefully, and he quickly brings it to his lips. As I watch the tiny drops of liquid trickle down the corner of his mouth while he takes a deep draught of the soothing drink, I try to think of how I should approach this. Harry trusts me. He trusts my advice. And he's determined to learn the Patronus spell. I inwardly grin as all the pieces of this particular puzzle fall together in my mind. 

Crossing one leg over the other, I sit back and casually run my hand through my hair, tucking a stray lock behind my ear. "You are doing fine, Harry," I tell him with a smile, and take a sip from my butterbeer. Harry watches me with a mixture of curiosity and expectation, and takes a sip from his own bottle. 

"You can't expect to learn the Patronus in only a few lessons. You're still young, and this particular charm requires a certain level of maturity."

His thin brow furrows behind his glasses, and for a moment he stares at the bottle in his hand before he looks up at me again. "Are you saying that I'm too young to learn the Patronus, Professor?"

"No, the level of maturity I'm referring to has little to do with age," I say as I place my bottle of butterbeer on the coffee table, sit back again, and drape one arm across the back of the couch while the other rests comfortably on my thigh. "Wizards mature in other ways than just by aging. Tell me, Harry, how much do you know about the maturity process of wizards?"

Harry blinks a few times, while he absently runs his fingers up and down his bottle of butterbeer. I have to force myself to look at his face instead of that suggestive display in his lap. I haven't got the boy yet, so it would do me no good if he caught me staring hungrily at his small fingers while I imagine what those fingers would feel like stroking specific parts of my body. 

"I... I don't think I've ever heard anything about that, Professor," he confesses at last, his voice soft and tainted with his youth. It makes me want to growl and pounce, but once again I control myself and give him a knowing smile instead. 

"Well, let me explain it to you then," I say casually, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. And in a way, it is the most natural thing in the world. It's just not something a professor usually explains to his thirteen-year-old student whom he wants to lure into his bed. "A wizard reaches a certain level of maturity after he's had sex."

The blush that spreads across Harry's cheeks reflects his complete innocence and makes me want to reach out and trail my fingers across that flushed skin. But my desires are interrupted when the bottle of butterbeer slips from Harry's fingers and spills in his lap. While he softly curses under his breath, I reach over and grab the bottle. Purposefully, I brush my hand across his thigh and feel his warm, shivering skin through his worn jeans. Giving him a smile, I inhale softly right before I sit back again. Harry's scent reminds me of apple blossom under a spring sun. Sweet and pure. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, and I chuckle while I put his bottle next to mine on the small table. 

"You have nothing to be sorry about. I know you grew up with Muggles, so it makes sense that you are not too comfortable talking about sex." I grab my wand from the pocket of my robe, and perform a quick drying spell on his soaked jeans. Harry gasps when the magic tickles the skin of his thighs and groin. He then swallows, bites his lip, and looks up at me with both curiosity and trepidation in his green eyes. 

"Sex is a very natural part of a wizard 's life. As I was saying, a wizard does not come to full power until he has sex. The stronger the wizard who takes his innocence, the quicker he will come to that power."

The blush on Harry's cheeks spreads across the rest of his face, and he shifts nervously. "You said when a wizard takes another wizard's... er..."

I want to laugh because Harry truly is innocent, and shows it in so many adorable ways. But instead I nod, and pretend to think about my response for a moment. "Harry, most wizards and witches are bisexual. You know what bisexual means, right?"

Harry quickly nods, his lips pursed together while he pushes his glasses up nervously. 

"So, it is not an unnatural occurrence for two wizards to have sex. Especially when it's the first time for one of them. When one loses his innocence to a person of the same gender, one will reach that level of maturity even quicker."

I can practically see Harry's young mind twist and turn to process all this information. I keep silent for a moment, giving the time he needs to draw his own conclusions. The conclusions that will lead him straight into my arms and my bed. 

"So," he whispers. "You're saying that I should have sex."

I shake my head. "No, I'm not. I'm merely saying that until you reach that level of maturity, performing powerful spells such as the Patronus will be difficult."

"But that would be the answer." Harry sits up, his earlier embarrassment somehow forgotten now that he's found a solution for his problems. "If I have sex, and become mature, I'll be able to cast the Patronus, and then no dementor will ever be able to affect me again."

Nodding, I observe him silently. Let him draw his own conclusions. Let him come to me with a suggestion. And once he does, my trap will snap shut around him, and the boy will never know that it was planned all along. Harry frowns, his eyes narrowed but unfocused. He's clearly considering every aspect of this situation, and I give him all the time he needs. Then he looks up at me again, and opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but he quickly closes it again while he stares at his folded hands. 

"I think I should have sex," he mumbles, embarrassment and trepidation clear in his voice. "I just don't know with whom. The only boys I know are all my age and hardly powerful. The only adults I know are the professors here, and I don't think that any of them would want to do that with me. I mean, they're all too old, they hate me or --"

Harry's eyes snap up and stare directly into mine. I raise one of my eyebrows slowly, smile, and keep my gaze locked with his. Harry, much to my surprise, doesn't look away. Instead he seems to be studying me, considering me very carefully. 

"The only adult I can think of who I'd want to do this with is you," he confesses softly, and finally looks away, his shoulders slumped while he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "You've been very nice to me, and I really like you."

His trembling voice reaches for me like an invisible claw, intent on drawing me to him. He's so perfect in his innocence. I have to restrain the urge to simply accept his suggestion. It's still too soon. I have to be sure he thinks it's all his idea, and not mine. So I frown slightly, and pretend to be deep in thought for a few seconds. 

"Harry," I say gently. "I don't think that's very appropriate for a professor and a student, don't you agree?"

"No one has to know," he pipes out, his eyes wide and shining with something that almost looks like desperation.

"I could lose my job over this," I tell him, my expression gentle, just like my voice. Harry sits up again, and shifts closer, his gaze suddenly determined and fixed on mine. 

"I promise I won't tell anyone," he says solemnly. "I know you've already done so much to help me, but I really don't know anyone else I'd want to do this with. But I can understand if you don't want me."

"Harry. That's not the issue. You just have to promise me, that you will not tell anyone about this. It has to be our secret, and no one can ever know about it."

"I promise, professor."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Call me Remus."

Harry's bright smile reflects my own feelings of relief and expectation, and I shift closer to him until our arms touch. Even though Harry has now told me he wants this, I know I have to be careful. If I'm too rash or forceful, Harry might change his mind. I'm skating on very thin ice here, and I don't want to break it. I put my hand on his shoulder, and trail my fingertips across the soft skin of his throat. 

"If I move too fast, or if I do something you don't want me to do, tell me so, Harry, and I'll stop immediately," I whisper. Harry nods, but I can see the determination in his eyes that tells me Harry most likely will accept anything I do to him. He trusts me, and his pride and stubbornness won't let him back down from this particular challenge. He's so much like his father, and for the briefest of moments I realize that I'm about to take James' son, and do with him as I please. Harry's only a child. James' child. James. Sirius...

I force myself to abandon those thoughts, and concentrate on the here and now instead of the past. Whatever happened in the past is ancient history. The present is what matters, and right now I have the most perfect, innocent boy under my control, willing to do what I want. Lingering on ghosts from the past is a waste of time when I can spend that time claiming Harry's innocence. 

Harry tentatively leans into my touch, his eyes fluttering closed. "I... er... don't know what to do," he whispers. "I don't know where to start."

Trailing my fingers across his jaw and softly caressing his cheek, I lean a little closer to him. "Why don't we start with a kiss."

Harry's smile is shy, and he looks up at me while his cheeks flush ever so slightly. Then he nods and licks his lips absently. I reach for his glasses. "May I take off your glasses, Harry? It will be less awkward without them." Harry nods, and I remove them carefully and place them on the small table.

"Have you ever kissed someone before?" I ask him while I sit back beside him, purposefully leaning my body against his. Harry shakes his head once. Putting both my hands on the sides of his face, I take my time to feel his soft skin under my fingertips, memorizing every curve. When Harry relaxes into my touches, I lean my face towards his, and slowly brush my lips across his rosy mouth. 

Harry giggles.

Leaning back, I give him a questioning look, and Harry puts his hand on my chin, and brushes his fingers across my stubble. "It tickled a bit," he explains, and I can't help but smile at his childish confession. "It felt nice, though," he quickly adds, and shifts his body so it is leaning against mine. 

Smiling, I lean forward again and give him a slow kiss, my lips parted slightly so I can suck his bottom lip between them for a moment before I draw back. I keep my face close to his, feeling his warm breath on my mouth. It smells like butterbeer and chocolate and something enticing that is Harry.

His eyes closed and his mouth opened slightly, lips moist and glimmering, Harry looks breathless and beautiful, and there isn't a single moment of resistance as I press my lips to his again. I move my lips over his in a smooth, delicate rhythm, waiting for Harry to respond. 

Clutching a trembling hand at my robes, Harry parts his lips and I sneak the tip of my tongue inside his warm mouth, running it across the back of his teeth before I feel Harry's tongue press against mine. I reward his bravery by swirling my tongue around his in experienced strokes, and feel him sag against me, offering submission that stirs every dominant cell in me to life. 

I quickly pull back, lest I devour him whole. 

Licking his lips, Harry blinks his eyes open and stares up at me expectantly. 

"How did that feel?" I whisper, running a hand down his throat, hooking a finger behind the collar of his shirt and touching, feeling, memorizing the promising skin beneath it. 

"Nice," Harry breathes, licking his lips again, and I can't tear my gaze away from the pink tip running across the soft, swollen flesh of his mouth.

Releasing the collar, I drag my finger down his shirt, pressing so I feel every curve of his youthful body until I reach the waistband of his jeans. 

"Tell me, Harry," I whisper, my mouth barely brushing against his cheek, as I hook my finger behind the stiff fabric of his jeans. "Have you ever masturbated?"

Harry gives a tiny jerk beside me, and I'm not sure if it's because of my question or because I'm slowly pulling the top button of his jeans open. 

"Y-yes," he says, lowering his gaze, but not pulling away from the touch of my mouth on his face. 

"Do you like it, Harry? Do you like to touch yourself there?" The first button pops open, and I move my finger to the next one, and meet little resistance as I work my way through them until his jeans fall open and his light-blue Y-fronts are exposed, the material stretched and marked with small, moist drops, betraying his arousal. 

"Yes, I like... to touch myself." Harry's leaning closer to me now, almost as if he's silently asking me to give him more. And I will give him more, but in due time, as I'm not about to rush things and forgo the chance to cherish every moment of claiming Harry's innocence. 

"Can you show me how you touch yourself?" I ask, sliding one finger down his Y-fronts, feeling pure skin covered in soft, curly hairs. Releasing my robes, Harry's hand falls to his lap, and stays there as he looks at me, his gaze searching and curious. 

"I would really like to see you touch yourself," I clarify, trying to ignore the throbbing of my own hard cock and the torturous bolts of arousal that propeller from my heavy sac up my spine. 

Nodding, Harry lowers his gaze while I pull his Y-fronts down just a bit, exposing his creamy skin and short, black pubic hair. His hand, surprisingly steady, creeps up his own crotch and slides inside his underwear beside my hand, and that touch is so enticing I inhale a shaky breath as I feel my prick twitch.

Worrying his bottom lip, I can feel Harry reach for his young, eager cock and wrap his hand around his hard flesh, his mouth opening to take short breaths. I pull his Y-fronts down further, and stifle a moan when I see Harry's hand curled around his stiff prick, the foreskin drawn back, the dark head slick with pre-come. It takes every bit of control not to reach for that young, yet ripe, erection and swallow it down to the base. 

Pulling back from him, I reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it up, exposing his taut belly. Harry looks up at me with questioning eyes, and I smile as I press a soft kiss to his cheek. 

"I want to see you, Harry. All of you."

"Do you... um... want me to take my clothes off?" Harry whispers, and I nuzzle his cheek and his throat and bask in the knowledge that this frail body is for me, and for me alone. 

"Yes," I say, and when Harry releases his erection, I pull his shirt off over his head and take a moment to run my hungry gaze across his lank chest and lean belly. Perfect, so perfect, and all mine. 

Taking a deep breath, Harry toes off his shoes and then arches his back as he pulls down his jeans and Y-fronts, shaking them off his legs. 

And he's naked. A perfect, naked boy sitting on my couch, and I press myself against him again, raking my searching fingers over his chest and his thighs and licking across his jawbone. Harry leans into me, so brave and so foolish and so willing. 

"Touch yourself. I want to see you come."

A soft moan, nothing more than a hitched breath, escapes Harry's parted lips, and he shifts on the couch, leaning back and spreading his thighs as he wraps his fingers around his leaking erection again. 

"Yes," I breathe into his ear as Harry moves his small hand up and down his prick. Stroking my fingers up his soft thigh, I fondle his tense sac, and Harry bucks his hips up at that unexpected touch. He moans against my face, breath so warm and melodious, and I catch it with my lips, kissing him with slow sweeps of my tongue, my gaze never leaving Harry's fingers working himself to climax. 

Sliding one arm around his shoulders, I pull him closer, and Harry rests himself against my body, his breathing coming in short, shallow gasps now. I knead his balls in my hand, feeling them tighten while Harry speeds up the strokes on his heated cock. 

"Oh, yes," he moans against my lips, eyes squeezed shut, nose wrinkled, and a thin layer of perspiration shining on his forehead. I kiss his dry lips, the curve beneath his mouth, and all the way down to his sharp collarbone. His hand works so dutifully, so furiously, and his slim hips buck off the couch, legs trembling and his sac tight in my hand. 

"Yes, gods, yes," Harry groans, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his cock pulsing and twitching and spurting pearly trickles of come over his belly. I squeeze his sac one last time, making Harry jerk beside me, and take a deep breath, running my finger up his spent prick, and swirl it around in his release. 

I wait patiently for Harry to come down from the height of his climax, his body slack against mine while I paint intricate patterns in the come on his belly, smiling as his skin shivers beneath my touch. When Harry pulls his head back from my neck and blinks up at me, his eyes so pure and uncertain, I scoop up some of his come and bring my finger to my mouth, darting my tongue out so Harry can clearly see how much pleasure I take in licking his release off my finger. 

Harry gasps, seemingly surprised and shocked that someone would want to taste his seed, and I feel my mouth twitch up in a knowing smile before I lower my face and lap my tongue across his come-covered belly in calculated strokes. The taste is heady and salty and bittersweet, and makes me want to pin him to the couch and drive my cock inside his body with every bit of inhuman strength I posses, but I resist, telling myself over and over again that patience is all I need to claim this body as mine. 

"Oh, god," Harry gasps as I trail my tongue down and lick the slick head of his prick. Pulling his foreskin back, I curl my tongue around his softening cock, teasing the sensitive skin just below the head, and stab against the moist slit until his prick is clean and already hardening again. 

My tongue covered in his come, I pull myself up, cup his chin, and crush my lips to his, pushing my tongue inside his half-opened mouth. Harry flinches when he tastes himself, but only once, and then he meets the strokes of my tongue with inexperienced but enthusiastic strokes of his own, and moans as I spread his seed around in his mouth. 

"I think it is time to move to my bedroom," I whisper, pulling back from our heated kiss, and grab his hand, pressing it against my own hard cock, cleverly hidden by wide robes. 

Swallowing, Harry darts his gaze around nervously. "Um... okay," he whispers at last, and I keep his hand clasped in my own as I get up and pull him with me. 

"It's right through here," I say, giving Harry a gentle push towards the opened door of my bedroom, meanwhile lowering my gaze so I can take in his curved buttocks, so alluring and inviting, and I wonder how this boy can walk around without anyone pulling him off to the side and burying their needy pricks inside his bewitching body. 

He looks so small, so virtuous, so naive, as he stands in the middle of my bedroom, his eyes wide as he looks at my sizable four-poster bed. 

Oh, yes, my dear Harry. That is where you will leave your innocence tonight. 

Harry seems to realize this as well, and turns towards me, mouth opening to say something, to protest perhaps, but I silence him with a firm kiss, and Harry melts under my hands as I caress his back and briefly stroke over the curves of his arse. 

"Why don't you undress me?" I suggest after I pull back from him. 

"Okay," Harry says, and looks me up and down, so brave, so unwise, so headstrong. His small hands reach for my robes, and I watch in amusement as his trembling fingers fumble with the stubborn buttons. 

But Harry manages to undo them, and he slides the robes off my shoulders, and lets out a soft gasp when he realizes I am naked underneath. 

"Don't forget my shoes," I tell him, stepping away from the puddle my robes created around my feet. Harry nods, and crouches down, fingers reaching to undo the laces of my slim boots. So submissive, so compliant, so delectable.

While I step out of my boots, Harry glances up, and stares at my rock-hard cock for a second, before diverting his gaze to the rest of my body. I can't resist his obvious submission, and place my hand on his head, my fingers running through his hair while I wrap my other hand around my prick, and squeeze it, hovering it right before Harry's half-opened mouth. 

It's so tempting, it's so close, and I can almost feel his moist lips wrap around the head of my prick as I slowly push my hips forward and tighten my hand in his hair. 

"Where did you get this?"

Harry's curious voice snaps me back to this reality, and I shiver when I feel his light touch on the scarred tissue on my thigh. He's looking at my scar, our scar, pressing the tips of his fingers against it, and it breaks something inside of me. No one has touched my scar, our scar, since those forgotten days at Hogwarts. James used to touch it, as did Sirius, and it's almost as if I can feel the pressure of their fingers on my marred flesh as well. 

Ghosts. Phantoms. Nothing more than that, and I'd do best to forget them and focus on the boy on his knees, looking up at me in awe. 

"I was in an accident as a child," I tell him, not exactly lying.

"Did it... did it hurt?" Harry asks softly, and I release his head as well as my prick, and feel unsure of what to do with my hands for a moment. 

"Yes, it did."

"My scar still hurts, sometimes," Harry confesses, tracing the scar on his forehead while keeping his other hand pressed against my disfigured flesh. 

"Most scars hurt, because they keep reminding us of things most of us would rather forget," I whisper, and Harry nods almost invisibly. Merlin, what is this boy doing here? 

I shouldn't, even if the desire is so great it inflames every patch of skin Harry touches. I shouldn't, and yet I will, because he is here, willing, and oblivious to the predator before him. Dumbledore will have my hide if he ever finds out, but I have no intention of letting anything that happens in here be brought to the headmaster's attention. Harry knows what's at stake, and his foolish courage and gallantry will keep him from ever speaking of this with anyone. 

I know Harry. Because I knew James. 

"Come," I say, and grab his delicate shoulder, pulling him up. "Why don't you lie down on my bed?"

There is doubt in his eyes, but he's also aware that he agreed to this, and thus he takes hesitant steps towards my bed and sits down on the edge, hands folded protectively over his half-hard prick. 

"Um... I'm not really sure about this," he confesses, his cheeks flushing with more than arousal and he worries his bottom lip, looking up at me with apologetic eyes. 

Maybe you're not so foolish after all, Harry Potter. 

"If this is moving too fast for you, we can stop," I say, and keep my tone casual and light. Stepping up to the bed, I lean against one of the posts, uncaring that my leaking cock is pointing right at him. "But I thought you liked what we have done so far."

"I did like it," Harry says, and tries not to stare at my erection. "It's just... maybe... a bit much."

"I can assure you that it will only get better, Harry. But if you don't want to come into your full power, that's fine with me." I shrug and tilt my head daringly as I stare down at him. 

"I do want the power," Harry counters, and I see his inner turmoil reflected in his desperate eyes. "It's just... is it going to be painful?"

"No, Harry." I lean one knee on the bed, and push Harry down with a gentle hand which immediately trails down to his prick. "I can make you feel things you haven't thought possible," I whisper, my voice hoarse and promising, and I stroke his cock into full hardness, knowing how to make it feel as torturously good as possible with soft squeezes around the base and teasing fingers pushing against the slit. 

Harry's eyes flutter shut and he starts to rock his hips ever so slowly, and when I feel his cock pulse and know he's on his way to a second orgasm, I release his needy flesh abruptly. 

"But if you don't want it, we can stop. No problem whatsoever."

Gasping in frustration, Harry snaps his eyes open and stares up at me. "No, it's okay... just... be careful."

"I will be as careful as I possibly can," I promise, knowing that it will take every ounce of my restraint not to tear his frail body open once I have him ready to receive my cock. Harry scoots further up my bed, crossing his ankles almost shyly and unsure of where to rest his hands. I shift and crawl towards him until I'm hovering over him, rubbing the head of my cock against his abandoned erection. 

Brushing my lips over his, my tousled hair trailing across his pink cheeks, I rock my hips and drag my cock up and down his, torturous, calculated friction, until Harry squirms beneath me, his hands clawing at the sheets. 

"Remus."

It's nothing more than a whisper, a single breath, but it's stunning and sublime, and I have to feel that mouth with more than just my lips and tongue. Straddling him, I push myself up and shift forward so that I have his arms pinned beneath my legs and my cock is pointed so close to his mouth that I can feel his warm, hitching breaths on my receptive flesh. 

"Why don't you taste it?" I suggest, brushing his hair off his forehead. "Lick it. Take it in your mouth."

Harry seems to be considering his options, and to convince him, I reach behind myself and run my fingers up and down his craving erection. Inhaling an uncertain breath Harry parts his lips, and I nudge my prick against his mouth, not forcing but persuading, and Harry opens his lips further, pressing his hesitant tongue against the head of my cock. 

"Very good," I encourage him, keeping my strokes across his hard flesh slow and teasing while I drive my hips forward and Harry's left with no other choice but to swallow my cock down. He looks up at me, and there's anxiety in his gaze, but that quickly vanishes as he starts sucking around my cock. 

His mouth feels exquisite, blistering heat around my burning prick, and I buck my hips, trying not to choke him as I fuck his mouth. Harry sucks dutifully, his eyes watering and narrowing, a single tear escaping the corner and trickling down his temple, the first drop of innocence leaking from his body and disappearing in the sheets of my bed where it belongs. 

But I have to stop, because as much as I'd like to flood his mouth or paint his face when I climax, I'd rather fill another part of his body with my seed. 

"That was very good, Harry," I tell him, pulling my cock from his mouth and shifting my hips down his body until I'm lying on top of him. "That wasn't all that bad, was it?"

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Harry shakes his head once. "No, wasn't bad," he whispers, and I reward his bravery with a sweet kiss.

"Turn around," I whisper against his cheek, trailing light kisses all the way down to his throat. I roll off him and reach for the vial of lubricant on my nightstand, which I put there earlier when I didn't know yet, or didn't want to know yet, that I'd be needing it tonight. 

Harry folds his arms under his head, his keen eyes following my every move as I run a hand down his spine, his arse, and rest it on the back of his thigh, urging him to part his legs with an insistent caress. He complies, his breathing shallow now, betraying his fear, and I kiss my way down his back soothingly while I shift between his spread legs. 

His skin is so smooth, so pale, so unblemished, so unlike my own, which is covered in faint scars, some hidden beneath the coarse hairs on my chest and abdomen. Stroking the perfect flesh, I hold his hips and coax his arse up, my mouth resting on his tailbone, and I inhale his sweet, enchanting scent. 

Widening my fingers around the round curves of his buttocks, I spread his arse cheeks open and can't hold back a hungry moan when I see his pink pucker. I am hungry. I am starving. I crush my mouth on his entrance, desperate to taste him, to use his innocent flesh to sooth my ravenous needs. 

He convulses under my kneading fingers and savage mouth, and I lap across the tight ring of muscles, letting his heady yet pure taste fill my mouth and satisfy my beast. This is what we want. Submission and flesh and a boy who moans eagerly when he feels a slick tongue slide inside his untainted entrance. 

I take great care in relaxing his hole, showing Harry what pleasure can feel like. Stabbing my tongue past the restraining pucker and into his channel again and again, I reach for the vial, unstop it, and coat my hand with lubricant before I press my slick thumb against his entrance beside my tongue. 

"Oh, oh, yes, oh," Harry moans, so softly, his breaths smothered by the pillow he presses his face against. His whole body is trembling, but it is sheer arousal now, the scent of his pre-come drifting up to my flaring nostrils. Pressing my thumb inside his hole, I slowly work the tight ring open, persuading the muscles to relax with my probing tongue. 

Harry is tense, even though I can see he's trying not to be. Laving across his pucker one last time, I pull back and replace my thumb with two fingers. 

"You have to relax, Harry. The more you relax, the more comfortable it will be," I whisper, and Harry nods against the pillow, his clenched fingers slowly letting go of the restraint he still felt against my intrusion. I work my fingers in and out of his body in expert, quick strokes, and rake the tips across Harry's prostate. 

"Holy... gods," Harry gasps, and I smile, because now he is enjoying it, learning what I can give him, and he's so receptive, so willing, and it's hard to resist driving my whole hand into his body and tearing his innocence from him. 

Three fingers now, and Harry is bucking back, still trembling, still a little unsure, but wanting more of what I'm giving him, and I think it is time to give him more, to give him all I've been wanting to give him for the entire evening. 

"Relax as much as you can and push back against me," I whisper, my own breathing hitching now, sheer anticipation while I slick my cock up and press the head against Harry's heated entrance. Mine, all mine, and no one else will be able to take from him what I'm about to claim. 

Harry's trying so hard to relax. So obedient. So foolish. So unaware a beast is forcing its way inside his body to take and claim and taint him for the rest of his life. Mine now. His innocence is all mine as I break through the weak resistance his body puts up and slide my cock in to the base, my fingers digging into the flesh around his angular hip bones. 

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Harry chants, and I lower my body onto his back, raking my fingers through his hair, tempted to pull his head back and bare his unprotected throat. 

"Oh, yes," I whisper, almost a moan. "You're doing well, Harry. Very well."

He's doing perfectly. 

Short, sharp thrusts of my cock inside his tight channel, his body mine now, shivering beneath me. 

"Touch yourself, Harry," I tell him, and he's so obedient, unfolding his arms and wrapping a shaky hand around his neglected cock.

Hard thrusts, and I need to restrain myself, not too brutal, not too savage, not too inhuman, but all mine, and I drag my teeth across his shoulder, so tempted to bite, to mark. 

Mine.

Tightening one hand in his hair, I pound into him, not too hard, but I need it, and it's mine now, and I can't hold back, can't not give him everything I need to give. He's convulsing again, and the thick scent of come tells me he climaxed, so eager, so mine, so fragile beneath my brutal cock. 

My vision blurs as my climax draws near, and for a moment I can see two ghosts from the past looking down at me, at us, but they're too late, because he's mine now, and they can't take from him what I just took, what I just claimed as rightfully mine. Too late, because you are dead and you cannot stop me, cannot change things, cannot undo what has been done, just like when you vanished and left me behind. 

I shudder against Harry, my climax intense and all-consuming and satisfying not just me but us, because we're filling him, our release burning a mark inside his body no one will be able to wash away. His innocence has been erased by the seed of a beast to whom he submitted willingly. 

Panting, I rest my spent body on his and forget about time and reality because he's mine now -- ours now -- and I feel it stir inside me, satisfied that we did this, but leaving me behind as it retreats into the shadows of my mind. 

"Oh, wow," Harry whispers, and I blink against reality because he's just a boy, just a child, and he trusts me, and I took him because that is what it made me do. Mine now, while I have no right to have him. 

"Are you okay?" I ask, pulling out of him as gently as I possibly can, quickly checking my softening cock for traces of blood, and letting out a relieved breath when I find none. 

"Yes," Harry whispers, and his wide, wondrous eyes confirm for me that he is. 

"Good." I trace my fingers across his cheek and his mouth, and memorize the curves of his familiar face one last time before sitting back and giving him a heartfelt smile. 

"I should probably go now." Harry sits up, looking down at the strings of come on his belly. 

"Yes, you probably should," I tell him, even though I don't want him to go. But he should. He has no business here, where there's only a beast lurking, always wanting more. I get up and hand him a small towel, which he uses to wipe away the traces of his release. 

"Harry, did I hurt you?" I ask him, because I know I wanted to hurt him. 

"Oh, no. It was... nice."

I can live with nice. 

"Good," I tell him again, slip on my robes, and gesture for him to follow me to the living room where his clothes are still lying scattered across the floor. I hand them to him and he dresses quietly, subdued almost. 

Just a child, but not, because he left his innocence in my bedroom, where it belongs. 

Before I can ask him the question, Harry already answers me. 

"I won't tell anyone," he says, putting on his glasses, and his slightly magnified eyes tell me that he won't. I put my hand on his shoulder and give it a grateful squeeze. 

Harry smiles, and it's enough. 

"Professor... um... Remus?" Harry turns towards me just when I want to open the door for him. 

"Yes, Harry?" My fingers tighten around the doorknob. 

"Can I come back tomorrow?"

No.

Two days to the full moon. 

I'll tear him apart as I lay another claim, as I make him mine all over again. 

"Of course you can," I hear myself say as I swing the door open. "Just stop by my rooms after supper."

Harry smiles, and it will never be enough.

~~fin~~


End file.
